


And I Play It on Repeat Until I Fall Asleep

by floosilver8



Series: Do I Wanna Know? [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, F/M, First Time, Fluff and Angst, Oral Sex, POV Sherlock Holmes, Sexual Tension, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, Sherlolly - Freeform, Sleeping Together, mollock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 03:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floosilver8/pseuds/floosilver8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my attempt at making Sherlolly fit into the canon. It starts with Sherlock in hospital after the Mary/AGRA reveal.</p><p>I think it works better having read the first installment of the series, but it also works as a stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. SATURDAY

**Author's Note:**

> I have ideas for how this could continue to fit through the ending of HLV, but that may take a while to write. Consider this complete for now.

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s running from something but can’t see what it is. All he knows is he’s scared. _Wake up. Wake up! WAKE UP!_

He opens his eyes. He’s still in hospital. _Late afternoon or early evening. Difficult to differentiate._ _Someone’s in the room._ His vision focuses on his heart rate monitor. He takes a quiet breath. _Molly?_

Molly’s sitting in the only chair in the room. It’s on the opposite side of the bed than he’s facing. She’s sleeping...or reading.

“You should go home and sleep,” he says without turning his head.

She doesn’t respond, just marks her place in her book and puts it down. _She was drifting off_.

He finally turns to face her, “I’ll be fine. I’m not going to bolt. Go home.”

Molly just looks down at her lap and swallows. She’s wearing her cherry cardigan with one of her many floral button-up shirts and khaki trousers. _Breathing laboured. Sadness (likely). Concern (definitely). Anger (also likely)._ She looks toward the door to avoid his gaze.

He looks away to be polite.

She considers her lap for a moment but then sighs, picks up her bag  and leaves without a word.

 _Good. Sleepy. Heart rate slowing (natural sleep rate_ ).

*******

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s running again. _No! Stop and fight! Face it!_ He stops dead in his tracks and wills himself to turn around. Darkness closes around his field of vision. _No! No, I have to see!_

He wakes up. It’s late, but the same day. Probably before 10pm.

Molly’s in the chair again. _Sleeping (slowed breathing). Just drifted off (book still in hand). Been here for at least two hours (snack wrappers in bin)._ He watches her chest rise and fall. Her nose twitches and she opens her eyes. She looks right at him.

 _Heart rate elevated (mine)._ He looks away quickly, “You didn't go home.”

She shakes her head. _Unable to speak? Or unwilling?_

“Why?” _Jaw clenched. Relax._

“Why ask a question you already know the answer to?” _Annoyed (with herself - but obviously also with me)._ She sighs and picks up her book again, finding her place. _Angry (confirmed – only with me)._

He takes a deep, uneasy, breath. He turns back to look at her after a moment. “I don’t deserve it,” he says almost inaudibly.

If it wasn’t for the size of the room, and the quiet of the night, she may have missed it. She twitches her nose again and rubs her chin self-consciously. “You will never understand, Sherlock. Don’t bother trying to work it out.” She shifts in the chair. “Just accept it.”

 _You don’t know me._ He rolls his eyes, “Sentiment.”

“Sentiment saved your life more than once, so maybe shut up,” she bites back.

He swallows hard.

She smooths down her hair and sighs. She puts her book away and stands up with her bag.

He turns back to her, “Molly, wait,” he swallows again. She just looks at him. _Don’t leave me alone._

“I’m getting tea,” she moves toward the door and pauses, “Do you want the papers?” _Annoyed...but not unfriendly._

“Yes...please.” _Breathing heavy (nervous)._

She nods and walks out.

*******

Sherlock’s dreaming. _Sherlock! SHERLOOOOCK!_ Sherlock’s on the roof of Bart’s, looking down at the car park which is actually a raging waterfall. _Who’s screaming? I can’t get down without jumping. I won’t survive if I jump._

He wakes up, opening his eyes suddenly. It’s late. Someone’s in the room. _Please be Molly._

She’s curled up on the chair, sleeping. Her coat is draped over her. She cradles her head on one arm draped over the back. The papers she bought are stacked neatly on the side table. _The Guardian, The Times, The Evening Standard._ He can see a headline about some political figure’s tax-avoidance. _Nothing of importance._ Her cup is also there. _Half-full. Long gone cold. How late is it?_

He focuses on the clock on the far wall. _Quarter to midnight._ He relaxes and watches her sleep. Her hair falls delicately over one shoulder. He sighs. Her nose twitches. She rubs it with her free hand. His breath catches in his throat. _Not asleep._ She covers her mouth as she yawns deeply. She opens her eyes slowly. She finally looks toward him.

He makes his face as impassive as possible. It’s betraying him. “Molly,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

“Get some rest.” She closes her eyes and readjusts her coat.

It takes him a moment to look away and nod. But he resigns himself to sleep again.

*******

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s running again. Someone’s chasing him...again. He reaches the edge of the roof of St. Bart’s. He teeters on the ledge. _No! No, steady._ He regains his balance. They’re still coming after him. _Face it. FACE IT!_ He turns around quickly. It’s growing dark, he can’t see anything except vague outlines. A gun? _Stop. Stop!_ The shadow lurches at him and he falls backward. _No!_

“NO!” he startles awake.

“It’s ok.” Molly stands at his side and places a hand on his forearm. “It’s ok. It’s only a dream.”

He focuses on her, still agitated, “Molly?”

“I’m here, Sherlock.” She studies his eyes. _Pupils fully dilated (dark room)._

He tries to calm down. _Not working._ “Molly,” he gasps out again. _Oh shit. Don’t panic._ His breath is ragged.

“Slow breaths, Sherlock. Breathe. You’re safe.”

He grabs her hand without thinking. He focuses on her face. She doesn’t break eye contact. He regulates his breathing and starts to relax. _This is new._ Her brow is furrowed. He looks down at their clasped hands. She inhales sharply and starts to pull away. He tightens his grip so she can’t. _Don’t leave me._

“Sherlock,” she blinks questioningly.

He rubs his thumb over the back of her fingers. She stares at their hands now too. He swallows hard, “Molly...you...I don’t...” he clears his throat. _What the fuck am I trying to say?_ He rubs his eyes with his free hand. “Stay?”

She nods slowly, “I’m not going anywhere.” She squeezes his hand and starts to pull away again.

He doesn’t let her go, “No. Too far.”

She just looks at him for a moment then nods. “I’ll just pull up the chair.” He lets go of her hand and watches as she scoots the chair to the edge of the bed. She drapes her coat over her shoulders and sits, leaning forward slightly. She looks at him. _Anxious? Scared? Trying to hide it._

He turns his hand palm up, inviting her to take it again. She glances down and seems to consider it for a moment. She looks back into his eyes, trying to read him. She takes a slow breath and gradually moves her arm across the edge of the bed to hold his hand. Her fingers wrap lightly around his palm, their thumbs intertwine.

His fingers are so long he’s able to touch her wrist. _Pulse slightly elevated (for being seated)._ He presses his fingers into her wrist and passes it off as a fond squeeze. _Pulse spiked._ He smiles softly, crooked, genuine. She gives a small smile back but can’t keep eye contact. _Pulse still elevated. Embarrassed? No, cautious._

He looks down at their hands, clasped tenderly by his side. “Thank you,” he whispers. She just nods.

 _Eyelids heavy. Morphine too high today._ He turns to the monitor but it’s too late. He’s drifting. 


	2. SUNDAY

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s lying on the floor of Magnussen’s office and can’t move. He’s paralyzed. He surveys the room as best he can but it grows dark. Very dark. Too dark. There’s very little air. _I’m trapped. I’m in a coffin! I’m not dead! I’M NOT DEAD! I’M NOT-!”_

He opens his eyes with a start and inhales sharply. It’s finally morning. _No one’s in the room._

The chair is settled back where it was. Her cup is gone but the papers are still on the table, unmoved.

A moment later a nurse walks in. She’s checked on him before. _She tries to take morning shifts on most weekdays, two kids, school aged, single mum, she’s able to pick them up when her shifts end (all old information). Family cat, ginger, mostly outdoors (new information)._

“Good morning, Mr. Holmes” she greets him cheerily picking up his chart. “Doctor says we can take you off the nutrition and saline drips today and have you try some solid foods.”

Sherlock raises his eyebrows and nods in acknowledgement. _Mouth dry._ He licks his lips. He makes feeble gestures at the morphine monitor to his left. “Too much.”

“Hmm?” she walks over to the monitor and studies the output. She checks his chart again. “This is pretty high. Have you been fiddling?” She turns it down significantly.

He had been fiddling. He had turned it up after John left yesterday afternoon. _Didn’t want to think about him and Mary for a while._ He sighs, thinking about them now.

“Just give that a second to adjust,” the nurse says.

He already feels much clearer. After a few moments he tries to sit up to test how his abdomen feels. He manages to do it without grunting. _Not a terrible amount of pain._

He’s been in hospital for five days. His second surgery to stop the internal bleeding – that he caused when he left to confront Mary – had been successful. His heart hadn’t stopped that night. His blood pressure had remained on the low end, but stable. Everyone who checked on him had been confident he would fully recover.

He had been sleeping a lot, but he knew he had visitors. John had visited every day, generally arrived at lunch and stayed until tea time. Lestrade and Mycroft happened to come in together once. Mrs. Hudson came in twice with John, brought flowers “to cheer up the room” she said. But there were two additional bouquets than what she had brought. Mary sent one, with a card – Mrs. Hudson had pointed it out that first morning back – white tulips. _Asking forgiveness._

The other bouquet he hadn’t noticed until now. It had likely been there for several days but it was only now in his field of vision. He suspects Irene Adler sent it. She had sent a single red rose the first time. This time it’s pink azaleas and white daisies. _Take care of yourself...virgin?_ He can’t tell if she’s teasing him with those. The meaning of red roses is obvious in the “language of flowers,” but of course, Sherlock knows a lot of flower meanings. Some serial criminals liked to leave calling cards after all. A bouquet of daisies generally meant innocence, patience, or loyalty in love.

He stares at the flowers now. They are on the shelf above the chair. Then he stares at the chair for a little while. _...Molly._ He thinks about her being there the night before. _What time had she left?_ He clenches his hand a little while he remembers falling asleep holding hers. He sighs audibly.

“No need to get melancholy, mate. I’m here.” John’s standing in the doorway. He grins and walks in. “Nice to see you awake...and off the saline?” He raises his eyebrows, picks up Sherlock’s chart and glances at it. “Good. Looking good.” He smiles at Sherlock again.

Sherlock smiles back weakly. “How are you holding up?” he asks.

John looks down at his feet and scratches his cheek distractedly before answering, “Fine. I’m fine.” He clears his throat. “We haven’t really talked, have we? I’ve um, been staying at Baker Street. Hope that’s ok.”

“Of course.”

“Mrs. Hudson’s still annoyed with me. She’s sure it’s all my fault.” He huffs out a small laugh and shakes his head. “Maybe it is.” He breathes deeply and looks around the small room, notices the papers on the side table. “Have you at least been nice to Molly while she’s here?”

“What? Yes, of course I was nice to her yesterday.”

“What about the other times?”

He can’t help the confusion registering on his face, “Other? What do you mean?”

“You...don’t know? She’s stayed here every night, mate.”

“She has?”

“Yeah. She came in the night you were admitted the first time, told me to go home and that she’d stay and watch after you. She said she didn’t mind ‘taking the night shift’ as it were. So that’s what we’ve been doing. She went absolutely _mental_ when you did a runner on my watch.” Sherlock’s eyes pop open in shock. “Yeah, I know! Anyway, she let me know - quite forcefully - that the arrangement would be the same when you were readmitted a week ago.” He looks at Sherlock questioningly, “You really didn’t know?”

“I’ve been sleeping a lot.” _How did I miss her all those other times? ...She brought the flowers._

“Yeah, well, I suppose that’s good.”

John stays for a few hours. They watch crap morning telly but mostly sit in silence. John’s stomach starts to growl around noon when Sherlock’s lunch tray is brought in. John stays to make sure he can handle the food, but Sherlock dismisses him a little while after he’s finished eating. “I’m perfectly fine, John, and you have spent too much time here. Don’t you have shifts at the clinic or something?”

John does leave finally after only a mild row. Sherlock had threatened to have him thrown out by the nurse if he hadn’t. Sherlock passes the time by running through his mind palace. He still doesn’t really know what to do about Magnussen. He thinks about Redbeard and playing observational games with Mycroft as a child. He gets bored with that and tries to figure out how many other people are on the ward with him. He’s finished counting the rooms when he starts to finally drift off to sleep.

*******

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s in his old bedroom. He’s lying in bed and he has the flu. Redbeard sits on the end of his bed, and there are detective novels all over the floor. He sits up and Redbeard bolts out the door. Sherlock chases after him. Down the hall, downstairs, through the sitting room, out the front door. Suddenly he’s in a dark alley. He looks around. _I know this alley. It’s the back of Molly’s flat._ He notices the door is open. He pushes it and walks inside. It’s pitch black but he knows how to navigate her cellar. How many times had he snuck in this way? Suddenly he’s in her sitting room. She’s sprawled in the arm chair in her pyjamas, reading some medical journal. He’s seen her like this before when he stayed over to avoid being alone with his thoughts. Moriarty walks up behind her. _What?! No!_ He pulls out his gun, aims it at Sherlock, and pulls the trigger. Sherlock can feel the pain in his stomach but doesn’t fall or die. Molly’s still reading, not looking at either of them. Sherlock looks at Moriarty again. _“What are you doing here?”_ Moriarty doesn’t say anything. He grins and points the gun at the back of Molly’s head. _No! NOOOO! MOLLY!_ Everything moves in slow motion. Sherlock leaps forward to tackle the gun away. The pain in his stomach is excruciating. _Molly!_ _MOLLY!!_

“Molly.” Sherlock startles awake with her name on his lips. It’s dark, after 8pm at least. Someone’s in the room. More than that, holding his hand and touching his face. “Molly,” he breathes again and relaxes.

“I’m right here.” She looks concerned. _Scared?_ She turns on the bedside light and then rubs his cheek with her thumb. She checks his eyes for responsiveness. He’s fine. He squeezes her hand still holding his. She smiles lightly at him. “Are you hungry? You missed your dinner tray.” He swallows and shakes his head. “Well, you should have this. It’s one of those supplemental nutrition drink things. I promised the nurse I’d make sure you drank all of it when you woke up.” She lets go of his hand and gives him a rather large cup with a straw. It’s full of some liquid of indeterminate colour.

He makes a face. He sits up to drink it without the straw. _Pain level: moderate._ He gulps it all down. The flavour isn’t the worst thing he’s ever tasted, but he’d prefer it was over as quickly as possible. He wipes his mouth with a grimace and hands the empty cup back to Molly, lying back against the bed.

“Thank you for not arguing with me about it,” she says, fairly surprised, as she takes it and puts it away. She moves to go back to the chair.

“Wait.” _Involuntary exclamation._ _Shit._ She stops in her tracks and looks at him. He raises one eyebrow hopefully and turns his palm up. His fingers automatically extend, reaching for her.

She looks down at his hand. _Slightly alarmed?_ But she looks away and nods. She pulls the chair forward to sit like she had done the night before. When she’s settled, holding his hand again, she resumes avoiding looking at him. _Pulse elevated._ _Nervous (more than usual)._

“Thank you for visiting me,” he says after they’ve sat for a moment.

She glances at him briefly, “Of course, of course. Not a problem.” She smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“John said you’ve been here every night.”

“Oh. Umm, yea- um, yes.” She clears her throat and doesn’t meet his gaze.

He watches her glance around, “You didn’t have to.”

She nods at her lap, “I didn’t want you to wake up alone in a strange room.” She glances up to look him in the eye briefly but she can’t maintain it. _Embarrassed._ She shakes her head slightly, “I remember you saying it bothered you when, um, you were gone.”

He smiles at her, “Always attentive.” He rubs his thumb against her hand. She gives him a weak smile and shrug. He clears his throat and his face becomes very serious, “Thank you, Molly” he looks at her pointedly, “I really mean that. You have done...too much for me.”

She shakes her head more forcefully this time and looks away, “It’s ok, Sherlock.” She collects herself and smiles at him, “It’s nice to be thanked though.”

“Molly...” _What? What can I say?_ He squints and furrows his brow in frustration. He rubs his free hand over his eyes and sighs.

Her face becomes serious. “It’s ok, Sherlock. I’m serious.” She squeezes his hand tighter. She hesitates before speaking again, “How are you feeling? Any pain?” _Changing the subject._ “I checked your chart. They turned down your drip today? You can tell me if you need more. I’ll ask the on-call doctor to change it.”

He shakes his head, “No, no. It dulls my senses and makes me sleep too much.” He pauses, “I probably shouldn’t even...have that so readily available.” _Shit. Too honest. Say something else._ “Are you ok? I mean, about your engagement ending. I think I’m supposed to ask. Or is this one of those things you’re not supposed to bring up?” he rambles.

She lets out what sounds like a soft laugh, “No, no it’s ok. I haven’t really spoken to you since...well.” She lifts her free hand and makes a small slapping gesture. Then her face falters and she looks at her lap - anywhere else but at him. “I’m fine. It was for the best. Turns out he wasn't that great. May have been a psychopath after all.”

He looks shocked, “Really?! I didn’t bother to deduce... I didn’t know...”

“No, no, it was a joke,” she smiles genuinely at him for a moment while he realizes. “We weren’t really going to work out. ...But I tried." Her smile fades into insincerity. “Were you awake to see John today?”

They talk about John and Mary for a little while. She tells him what John has told her about the situation – which is most of it.

She casually mentions that she knows the stories Janine sold to the papers were all lies. He not-so-casually mentions that it was a ruse that turned out to be a huge waste of time and resulted in a bullet being lodged between his liver and diaphragm.

When that subject is exhausted she tells him about some cases that have come into the lab; a man’s toe fungus he got from sharing a bed with his dog, and a woman who had a toothpick in her liver.

“Other than that there are the usual deaths. Nothing special. Although, I did save you some eyeballs from non-viable organ donors. Only slightly used.” He smiles at her joke. She rubs her nose absentmindedly with her free hand and tries to hide a yawn.

“You should get some sleep.” His own eyelids are heavy.

“Do you- ...Do you want me to leave?” She glances down at their hands, still clutched. He had been unconsciously rubbing his thumb against hers for the past 30 minutes.

“No,” he looks at her carefully.

She presses her lips together in a tight line and nods, “Ok. I’ll just be right-”

“No,” he says again. He tugs on her hand a little, drawing her closer. He shifts to the opposite edge of the bed, making room for her on his un-injured right side. “You’ll seriously hurt yourself if you sleep in that chair one more night.”

“Sherlock, I can’t. You’re still-” she points at his abdomen and his IV.

“It’s fine.” He makes sure there’s nothing in her way and arches an eyebrow at her. She glances around nervously. She looks at him again. _Don’t go._ “Oh, just come on, Molly,” he says looking away.

She narrows her eyes at him but eventually nods, slips off her shoes and settles next to him taking extreme caution not to pull any of his wires. Her body has to touch his in the narrow bed, but that’s kind of the point. She lays facing him, with her arm tucked under her head. They look at each other for a little while but before long they can’t keep their eyes open. Sherlock drifts off to sleep first.


	3. MONDAY

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s lying on his own bed, in his own room. It’s dim but he can see her outline and feel her tucked against him. _Molly._ He wraps an arm around her and pulls her closer. She lets out a soft moan of contentment. He kisses her shoulder. His head swims with pleasure and everything goes dark until he wakes up and opens his eyes.

He’s still in hospital. Alone on the bed.

The day passes without excitement. Nurses and doctors are in and out checking on his vitals. He takes a sponge bath with the assistance of a rather large orderly. John visits at his usual time. Sherlock doesn’t say anything about Molly, but he’s a bundle of nerves waiting for her. John leaves at his usual time.

It’s exactly 42 minutes between John’s departure and Molly’s arrival. Sherlock’s pretending to read yesterday’s papers when she knocks on the door.

“Molly. Hello.”

“Hello, Sherlock. Nice to see you alert.” She moves into the room and sets down her bag. She’s brought him the day’s papers and takes the old ones away. She’s also brought him the biographies of William Hale aka The King of Osage Hills, and Charles Boles aka Black Bart. “Found them in a charity shop. I’m not sure if you’re interested, but they seemed...um, interesting.” Both of the men were criminals - they do look very interesting. She pushes the chair to the edge of the bed without being asked. Sherlock flips through the books and Molly just fidgets silently.

His dinner tray is brought in about an hour later. He picks at it, she scolds him, so he picks some more. When he’s finished they both sit and read.

He picks Charles Boles first. She’s reading her usual classical fiction – something with the usual repressed romanticism. She props the book against the edge of the bed. Sherlock casually lays his hand by his side, palm up. Molly glances at it sideways, then glances up at him. He’s not looking at her. She looks away and takes a breath. She lays her book flat on the bed and slowly slides her hand over to take his. _Yes._ He smiles to himself. His fingers grip her gently. They both read one-handed for a while longer.

He yawns audibly. She’s been stifling yawns for several minutes. “You should get some sleep, Sherlock.” He gives her a look. She just mirrors the look back to him and takes his book. She stands and turns around to put things away. When she turns back he’s moved over and made room for her again.

She sighs and takes her shoes off to slip beside him, again very careful to not pull any wires.

She faces him and rests her head on his outstretched-arm – he’s made it the only option. He curls it around her shoulders, drawing her closer. _Do something, you daft moron (me, not her)._ He rests his cheek on the top of her head. _Shampoo brand: recently changed. Something organic. Been spending time in the bakery down the street._ She cautiously rests her left hand on his chest, above his heart. His breath catches in his throat. _Monitoring my pulse. What can you deduce, Molly Hooper? Respiratory rate elevated (both of us)._

He holds his breath and tentatively kisses the top of her head. _Point of no return._ He can feel her face change expressions against his chest but he can’t see it. She slowly shifts back and tilts her face up to him. They look at each other for a long moment. Their faces are very close and they stay there just breathing each other’s air. She breaks the gaze to look at his lips. His tongue instinctively darts out to lick them. She looks into his eyes again. _Do it. Do it now. DO IT NOW._

He slowly closes the short distance between them and tenderly kisses her. She reciprocates weakly at first, but with more pressure as it goes on. It goes on forever. _Oh God._ They break apart to breathe. _Endorphins and adrenaline rushing through blood stream._ _Testosterone level elevated. Stay calm._

He kisses her again, with a little more force. She responds in kind. _Blood pounding in ears._ He lays his free hand on her hip. Her chest presses against his side. _Oh God, oh God, oh God. ...Yes._ Her mouth is warm and inviting. He’s never kissed anyone like this before. _John would call this a ‘proper snog’. Don’t think about John when you’re kissing Molly Hooper!! ... kissing Molly. God, Molly._

He digs his fingers into her hip and shoulder. He teases his tongue against her bottom lip. She inhales deeply and opens her mouth slightly. Their tongues touch briefly before disappearing. He teases her again. She moves her hand from his chest to his neck, getting a better grip on him. She opens for him and their tongues immediately find each other with gentle massages. _Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop this._ He lets out a soft groan as he deepens their intimate embrace.

Suddenly, she breaks the kiss, pushing him back and herself away from him. She’s off the bed before he can even think to grab her. _Senses dulled from pleasure chemicals in the bloodstream. Molly’s leaving. Wait, what?_

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what- um...I should...” She doesn’t look at him. She paces around the small room.

He squints at her, “Molly, what’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted.”

She whirls around to face him, suddenly livid. “What?! What _I_ wanted?” _Angry. Hurt. Confused_. She’s not shouting but her voice is tense. “This isn’t a game, Sherlock. If I could just get over you I would. You and I both know the science of affection and hormones. If you weren’t here I’d just forget about you.”

 _Ouch_. He forces his face to lighten, “I thought we already tried that.”

“Yeah, and I had Tom. But we’ll never know how that could have ended because y _ou_ came back.”

 _Ouch!_ “How _did_ that really end, Molly? Tom seemed to be having such a nice time at John and Mary’s wedding. He even tried his hand at solving a case! Such a clever boy he was!” He bites back at her. “Meat dagger, Molly. Meat. Dagger.” _Why are you doing this? Stop talking now._ He looks away and sighs.

Her lips are pressed together in a thin line, her nostrils are flared in rage. She looks down at the floor like she’s surprised it’s there. “I always do this. ...I don’t know why I’m even here. ...You are always...” She shakes her head, pulls the chair back in place against the wall, and picks up her bag. She looks at him with tears in the corners of her eyes but she doesn’t let it faze her. “Every time, Sherlock.” She turns to leave.

“Wait!” he manages to croak out and sit bolt up-right without regard for his wound. She stops but doesn’t look at him. “Molly...please...Please don’t leave. I am...so sorry. I really am. I don’t know why I always...You’re right...” He clears his throat. “Please forgive me, Molly.”

She sighs and turns to face him. “Not right now, Sherlock.” She turns and leaves. In the hall she doesn’t stop, and doesn’t look back.

He lies back on the bed and stares at the ceiling. _Fuck. What the fuck have I done now?_ With the endorphins gone he feels pain in his side again. He chastises himself for what feels like hours before he eventually drifts off to sleep again.


	4. TUESDAY

Sherlock’s not dreaming. He’s just asleep. Or rather, trying to, but it’s too shallow of a sleep. Not exactly restful. He can hear all of the noises on the ward. He slowly emerges further out of the sleep fog. It’s mid-morning. No one’s in the room.

The day goes on. Nurses and doctors are in and out. John checks on him at lunch and stays for a few hours. Sherlock gets to try standing up and walking. He manages just fine. When his dinner tray is brought in he picks at it. It’s something that resembles Sheppard’s pie. He should be starving, but he’s in his “just a vessel” mode. The night nurse threatens him with the IV drip if he doesn’t finish it. He takes a few more bites to satisfy her.

John stops in again after tea, Sherlock can tell right away that he’s annoyed. “Sherlock, what the hell have you done to Molly?”

“What? I didn’t!”

“She just left me a voice message to say that she couldn’t watch you anymore and to let her know if anything happens.” Sherlock looks at him confused. “Her voice was a little tense. I thought, ‘That’s strange, Molly seemed so keen before. She’s always so nice and ready to help.’ But of course, we’re talking about _you_ here, so I rang her to see what you had done.” John can’t keep the annoyance out of his tone. Not that he’s trying.

“What did she say?” Sherlock’s heart is in his throat.

“Nothing! She played it cool. ...But I know you better than that.” He’s wagging his finger and looming over Sherlock now, “So what did you do _this time_ , Sherlock?”

Sherlock looks away and tries to breathe normally. Finally, he says, “I don’t...really know.”

John sighs audibly and his posture relaxes, “Alright. Walk me through it. What happened?” He finally sits.

Sherlock explains how he had been waking up to find her in the room. “...It was nice to see her, even though I could tell she’s still angry with me...for the drugs test.” How they ended up holding hands. “...It was comforting.” How they laid on the bed together. “She had been spending so many nights in the chair I thought she might like a change. ...And then last night I...” he swallows hard.

John takes a steadying breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, “And then you what?”

“I...kissed her,” he finally says with forced casualness.

John noticeably starts. His eyebrows are threatening to disappear into his hairline. He searches the ceiling for answers for a second, “You...what?”

Sherlock scowls at him, not really wanting to say it again.

John clears his throat and tries to make his face look normal for the sake of his friend, “Ok. Ok, um. ...Why?”

“Why did I kiss her?” Sherlock gives him another annoyed look, like John should already know the answer. John just nods at him while pursing his lips, still quite shocked. _Oh right, he doesn’t actually know._ “Because I wanted to. Because...it felt nice. Ok?!”

 “Ok! Ok. ...And I guess the important question is what does this mean? Is this a genuine relationship or are you just...Janine-ing her to some degree?”

Sherlock scowls and scoffs. “No! That’s what makes this so difficult!” he shouts a little too loudly and pounds his fists on the bed.

John is taken aback, “Alright, mate. Alright, calm down.” He makes calming gestures and leans back in the chair with a sigh. “Although, you’ve always...sort of...you know...with Molly, so I should have said you’re Molly-ing Molly.” He gives Sherlock a cheeky grin.

Sherlock just keeps scowling, “This is serious, John! She shouted at me after and left!”

“She _shouted_ at you?”

“Yes...” he clears his throat. “...And I may have gotten defensive after that.”

John nods knowingly, “Ah. Yeah, I see it now.” He looks at his lap and smiles to himself.

“What?”

John laughs lightly, “Nothing. Nothing, just...Sherlock Holmes...wow.” He huffs a laugh again, “Wow.” He clears his throat, “Wow.”

“Stop saying that and tell me what to do! You’re the expert on women!”

“I don’t know what to do! I’m a stupid man! I have my own troubles with women right now!”

They stare at each other for a tense moment and then both burst out laughing at the same time.

“You _are_ a stupid man, John.”

“You’re one to talk,” he laughs back. “Going to pieces after kissing a girl. Pathetic, that’s what you are.”

They keep smiling at each other for a moment and each get lost in their own thoughts.

“Listen,” John says finally, “I’ll ring her again. I’ll think of something to get her over here.”

Sherlock’s face falls, “No. Thank you, no. Let her have some time to herself, a night in her own bed.”

John reluctantly agrees. Sherlock also insists he go home and sleep too. His recovery is progressing and “there’s absolutely no need for the bedside vigil.” John half-heartedly leaves a little while later. It takes Sherlock several hours to actually fall asleep.


	5. WEDNESDAY

Sherlock knows he’s not awake. He’s asleep and dreaming right now. This is a dream but he’s not able to change it. He’s still in hospital, in his room, lying on his side (more like floating) on the bed. His abdomen feels like it’s made of cotton wool. He’s staring at the chair that is filled with...Molly. She’s reading medical journals, and wearing the yellow dress from John and Mary’s wedding. She turns the page of the magazine and reveals a picture of Sherlock laid out on a morgue table. Suddenly Sherlock is actually on the slab. “Focus!” she shouts and slaps him. _This is familiar._ “Stay alive, Sherlock!” His eyes are open, his mouth is open but he can’t speak. His tongue feels awkward in his mouth. He just watches as her face moves from anger to concern and back again. He reaches his hand out and tries to grab her shoulder. He can’t reach her. She looks at him with hurt in her eyes. _I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Molly. I’m..._

“...so sorry, Molly,” he wakes from the dream. _Hospital. Early morning._ Someone _just_ left. He sits up and observes the room. _Not a nurse. Too early for the first rounds._ He notices a coffee cup in the previously empty bin and today’s papers on the side table. _...Molly. She came back?_

The day passes. John and Mrs. Hudson visit. There’s no more shouting. He’s allowed to move around even more. The doctors do some check-up tests. They think he’ll be discharged in a few days. _And none too soon._

Sherlock’s more than starting to go stir-crazy. He can’t bring himself to read the books Molly brought him. Instead, he does mental exercises, reads the paper, begs a trashy magazine off the nurses, and resorts to reading the instruction manual to the bed. He also fixates on figuring out what to do with Magnussen. He thinks he understands how it works. _Careless, Magnussen._ He wants to call Mycroft to get him in on the case, but he was so cross about it last time Sherlock doesn’t dare.

Sherlock doesn’t nap that day, or sleep that night. _Just a vessel. Transport._ But he does eat enough to placate the hospital staff.

He’s “just resting his eyes” around dawn when he hears the door open. He doesn’t move. He hears her enter, place a newspaper on his table, and can feel her watching him. It seems like it goes on forever, but it’s probably less than two minutes. _Let her be._ Finally, she moves away and he hears the door open and close again. He lets out a long breath.

That day he makes an appointment to see Magnussen. He sneaks out when the lunch trays are being delivered on the ward. All the nurses and orderlies are busiest during that time. They don’t notice when he steps into the lift, leading his morphine drip along like a strange metal stick friend.

The meeting does not go well. Magnussen ruins the only nice meal Sherlock’s had in weeks.


	6. SUNDAY

Sherlock passes his last few days in hospital restlessly and with elevated levels of wingeing. He’s weaned off the morphine which makes him irritable ( _expected_ ) but also clears his head. John visits in the evening – sometimes with Mrs. Hudson. Mary actually stops in very briefly to apologize again. He’s as polite to her as he can be for a reformed ( _yes, reformed_ ) drug addict coming off IV drugs. Genuinely he’s fine with her, but he’s still irritated on John’s behalf. _Best friends feel slighted on the other’s behalf. That’s just what you do (information obtained from Molly ages ago)._

When he’s discharged John is there with fresh clothes to take him home. He helps Sherlock get dressed and ready to leave. As Sherlock puts on his coat, John looks around the room, “Do you want to keep the flowers? I can ask the nurse for a box to carry them.”

He just makes a face and shakes his head in response. But when John steps out to alert the orderly that they’re ready, Sherlock quickly picks one daisy and one aster from Molly’s bouquet and tucks them gently in his coat pocket. _Sentiment. I know. It’s fine._


	7. THURSDAY

Sherlock’s been home for four days. John insists on taking his vitals every morning. His wound is still tender, but everything is basically back to normal. Except that Sherlock’s still having nightmares. Sometimes he’s being shot ( _new-ish_ ), sometimes Moriarty is blowing his own head off ( _old_ ), sometimes John’s in danger ( _old_ ), sometimes Molly’s in danger ( _new and old_ ).

He wakes up on the couch from a fitful sleep. _Nightmare again. Something tragic. Pathetic._ John is awake and in the kitchen. Sherlock yawns and stretches. John brings a breakfast tray into the sitting room. Sherlock reaches for a chip but John slaps his hand away.

“You get to eat the breakfast Mrs. Hudson’s made for you only after I check your blood pressure and heart rhythm. That was the deal.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes as he pushes up his shirt sleeve. When John has given him the all-clear he practically inhales the plate of chips, egg, gammon and slice of pineapple.

John sits in his chair across the room and reads the papers. _Not reading, skimming._ He’s restless.

“Alright, John?” Sherlock squints at his friend.

John sighs and nods. “Yeah, yeah” he waves a hand around and folds the paper. “I’m just...I’m seeing Mary today. It’s going to be...I don’t know.” He groans and rubs his hand over his face. “...What about you?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you tried talking to Molly yet?” John raises his eyebrows.

Sherlock clears his throat, “No.”

“You really should. I’ve let her know you’re improving and home, but...if you hope to...you know...you should ring her.”

Sherlock leans his elbows on his knees and ruffles his hair with a sigh. _Molly._ He hasn’t stopped thinking about Molly since that night they kissed. _Who am I kidding?_ He hasn’t really stopped thinking about Molly since... _God, it’s been so long. She’s always been there, hasn’t she?_ He’s gone about his life, but she’s been on his mind on some level for quite some time. _The lab, the morgue, her flat. ...Her flat._ He had been there several times over the years. More, directly after...the fall. He made excuses for needing space - John was an easy person to blame. Her flat was nice. Her cat was nice. She took care of him. _And I exploited her feelings for me. What a prick! Now look where you are._ He chastises himself and sulks back on the couch.

John leaves for his shift at the clinic around 10am. He’ll see Mary at their flat after – it still is _their_ flat.

Sherlock’s still sulking on the couch at noon. The lunch Mrs. Hudson made is going cold next to him. He’s pulled out his mobile at least 10 times in the past two hours. He just stares at Molly’s number stored in his contacts. He’s only mustered up the courage to text her three times...but he’s deleted every single one.

~~_Can we talk? - SH_ ~~

~~_I need to see you. – SH_ ~~

~~_Baker Street? - SH_ ~~

Finally, he figures out what to say, “ _You shouldn’t forgive me, but I hope you will. I missed you. – SH_ ”

It takes a full five minutes for his phone to beep in response. By that time his blood pressure is sky-high. _Effect on recovery from gunshot (unknown)._

“ _Tell John to change your dosage. You’re delirious. – Mx_ ”

His breath catches in his chest. _Playing it cool? Backbone Molly. ...Nice._ “ _Maybe you could come over and check it? Then we can have dinner together? – SH_ ” he texts back. _Flirting is more fun when you mean it_.

“ _Take a nap and wait for John to get home. – Mx_ ”

 _That’s it?!_ He rings her, “Oh for God’s sake, Molly I’m being sincere!” He’s shouting.

“Wha- um, first of all, _hello_ ,” she says pointedly, “Secondly, how many pain tablets have you taken today? I will seriously have John call Mycroft right now if you don’t tell me.”

“I’ve taken the normal amount and I’m not hallucinating! I just want to see you and apologise for being an arse!” Sherlock rambles out frustratedly.

Her line is quiet for a moment.

“Molly?” he checks to make sure his phone is still connected, “...Molly, are you still there?”

She sighs, “Yeah. Yes, I’m here.”

They don’t say anything for a long moment. “So, um, if you’re available to come ‘round to Baker Street tonight that would be...nice.”

She clears her throat, “Uhh...”

“I would offer to meet you elsewhere but John hasn’t said I can leave the flat yet.”

She snorts out a laugh, “Erm...when, I mean, what time were you thinking?”

“Before tea would be nice. Mrs. Hudson usually brings up a tray around six. John’s working and then going to see Mary.”

“You’re going to force Mrs. Hudson to make us supper?”

“No, I’m going to order out and Mrs. Hudson will bring it up for us.”

She laughs again, “Ok.”

He’s quiet for a moment, “Was that a yes?”

She pauses, “Can you promise there won’t be any more shouting?

He smiles to himself, “Do you want me to lie or tell the truth.”

“...You already know the answer to that. ...Fine, Sherlock I’ll be there.”

“Excellent. I’ll plan on seeing you around quarter to six this evening.” He rings off.

He suddenly realizes what he’s just done and sinks back on the couch with a sigh. _Well, here goes nothing._


	8. THURSDAY EVENING

Sherlock arranges things with Mrs. Hudson. She’s giddy and tries to insist on making them something. Sherlock insists that’s not necessary and orders from Angelo’s. By quarter-past five Sherlock’s absolutely on edge. He tried on three shirts before settling on the dark purple ( _to hide any accidental tomato sauce stains_ ), and he’s actually tidied up the flat.

Molly rings the bell at exactly quarter to six. Sherlock is practically buzzing out of his skin as Mrs. Hudson lets her in. He paces the sitting room until he hears her on the stairs. He rushes over and plops on the couch, then quickly picks up a book (the Black Bart again) from the top of a pile he had artfully arranged earlier to look casual.

She stands in the doorway to the room and raises a hand to knock on the open door, “Hello, Molly,” he says before she can get a noise out. “Thank you for agreeing to see me.” He closes his book and sits up, finally looking at her.

She’s wearing her favourite trousers and a light blouse. Her hair is plaited and draped over one shoulder. _Beautiful_.

He gets up and stands only a metre away from her, “You look nice.”

She barely smiles, “Thank you, Sherlock. You look...well too.”

“I am, thank you. Better anyway. John let me walk up and down stairs yesterday. He doesn’t know I’ve done it at least four times every day when he isn’t here.”

She has to turn to hide her smile at the image of John being Sherlock’s minder. “Good...that’s good.” She shuffles and looks around nervously. He watches her. _Do something. DO SOMETHING._ The silence stretches out. _Quiet too long. Talk now. Say words. Out loud!_

“MollyI’mreallysorryifyouwereoffendedbymykissingyouIdon’tknowwhatcameoverme” the words spill from his lips without filter.

Her eyebrows raise, “I...sorry? What?”

He clears his throat slightly exasperatedly, “I just want to say, I’m sorry if I offended you the other night. ...before the shouting...when we...Anyway, I may have read the situation wrong. It can happen...occasionally.”

She sighs, “I wasn’t – I mean...I just...don’t know when to trust you. Not after...everything.”

He looks at her very confused, “You mean the drugs test?”

“Not just that. I know how you can be, how you...use people.” She tries desperately to hold his gaze. “You’ve done it to me for so many years. It never stopped hurting. And I’m such an idiot for coming back...”

He takes a few steps toward her and holds her head in his hands. She gasps. “No, Molly. No, no.” He rests his forehead against hers. _Stupid, stupid Sherlock._ They both take deep breaths for a few moments. _So close. Kiss her again. Do it now._

She pulls away a few steps. He lets her go. She rubs her cheeks self-consciously before turning back to face him. “Just...please don’t lie to me anymore. You don’t have to! I’ll always help you when you need it. You don’t have to be manipulative with me.”

He nods, “I won’t. I promise, Molly.” He steps closer to her again. She’s been his rock as much as John has. _Why have you treated her differently? Why did you toy with her? ...Because you’ve always adored her and you didn’t know how to deal with that._ “But...why?” She gives him a confused look, “Why will you always help me? ...Say it.” _Say it!_

She looks at her hands considering it for a moment, and then meets his eyes again, “ _Why?_ ” she pushes back.

He closes the distance between them again and towers over her. They’re closer than what is strictly decent for just friends. “I want to hear you say it. “ He’s basically whispering. “...Say you love me, Molly.” _Please, say it._

She swallows hard and closes her eyes, “Why?”

He bends down and whispers in her ear, “Because _I_ love _you_.”

She has to reign in her breathing. Her voice is desperate and almost inaudible, “Why?”

He takes a deep steeling breath, “You are an amazingly kind, patient, and clever human being, Molly Hooper. You have been my greatest support, and one of my best companions. You’ve been more than a friend. You’re constantly in my head. You kept me alive and sane. _You_ are the only one who can see me. _You_...” he lets his cheek rub against hers, “...are the only one I _allow_ to see me.”

She lets out a long breath, “Sherlock...” she leans into him slightly.

He takes both of her hands in his. “I don’t need anything from you Molly. I just need you to know the truth.” He pulls back to look her in the eyes, “I can’t promise I won’t accidentally hurt you - I don’t exactly know what I’m doing in this department – but...I will try...because you’re worth it. Please let me try.”

He slides his hands up her arms to cup her neck. He brushes a thumb along her jaw and she furrows her brow. He smiles lightly and tilts his chin forward, just enough to brush her lips with his. She doesn’t move but she also doesn’t pull away.

He tries it again, with a little more force. She responds to his pressure and rests one hand on his chest. He digs his fingers into her and pulls her in for a forceful kiss. She responds vigorously, gripping his shirt. He teases his tongue against her lips which she parts for him. _Oh God._ She rests both hands on his hips and pulls him closer so their bodies press together.

He moans into their fervent kissing and trails a hand down to the small of her back. She stands on her tiptoes to continue kissing him and presses her pelvis into his. He’s surprised and slightly embarrassed by his own arousal. He tries to loosen their grip and get some distance but she doesn’t let go of him. That turns him on even more.

They’re so wrapped up in the moment they never hear the footsteps on the stairs. “Oh my!” Mrs. Hudson exclaims on the landing.

Molly starts and breaks away, but Sherlock holds onto her and turns only his head to acknowledge his landlady’s presence. _Worst timing._

“I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’ve just brought up your tray. I thought you’d still be rowing not...snogging!” She says with a kind smile.

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Hudson.” He moves to usher her out.

She sets the tray down in the kitchen. She grabs his arm forcefully and pulls him around the corner to scold him in a tense whisper, “Sherlock what’s come over you? You had better not hurt our Molly, I will never forgive you! Do you understand me?!”

Sherlock’s in a bit of shock from being handled so bodily, “Yes! Mrs. Hudson,” he finally hisses. She gives him a stern look and digs her fingers into his arm. Her grip is surprisingly painful. “It’s fine! We’re just working this out.” She releases him.

“Promise me you’re not going to hurt her.” He rubs his arm, which will probably be covered in bruises tomorrow. “ _Promise me_ , Sherlock.” She moves to pinch his arm again.

“I pro- _ow!_ I _promise_!”

She squints and then smiles and kisses him on the cheek. “Good. Enjoy your supper. I’m going to take one of my herbal soothers and lay down.” She leaves and closes the door behind her.

Sherlock peeks into the living room. Molly’s sitting on the arm of the sofa, looking at her hands...and smiling to herself. Sherlock clears his throat and she looks up quickly.  “Hungry?” he asks good-humouredly.

They eat in the kitchen with their legs touching under the table. They talk about cases that have come into the lab. Sherlock tells her everything interesting he could deduce about the other patients on the ward with him. She smiles at his confusion over the sordid lives of the medical students completing their Foundation Training.

She makes tea when they’ve finally stopped picking at the food and decide to withdraw to the sitting room. He wraps his arm around her on the sofa. They share stories of their university days and getting up to no good in the labs after hours.

John calls at half-eight but Sherlock doesn’t want to be rude so he lets it go to voicemail. Five minutes later John sends a text, which Sherlock also ignores. Two minutes later Molly’s phone rings.

“Oh, I’m sorry I should check who it is. I’m sort of on-call for another friend who’s supposed to go into labour at any moment.” She fishes her phone out of her bag, “It’s John!” She answers.

“Molly! Sherlock’s not answering his phone. Mrs. Hudson isn’t answering either. I’m at Mary’s and I just wanted to check in!” He babbles desperately.

“John! John it’s ok. I’m at Baker Street. Sherlock’s right here, he’s fine.”

“He is? Oh good! Wait...you’re at Baker Street?”

“Yes,” she smiles to herself. “We just had tea.”

“Uh-huh. May I please speak to Sherlock for a moment?”

Sherlock stands to take the phone when she offers it. “John, can this wait?”

“Sherlock Holmes I am suddenly annoyed I don’t know your middle name so I could give you the full name scolding!!”

Sherlock scoffs.

“I didn’t say this before so let me just say it now, ok? You better not hurt Molly, _do you hear me?_ You just better not. I will _murder_ you, do you understand? I will dismember you and scatter your remains all around this country, and it would take _you_ to find them all. But you will be dead. _Are you listening to me?!”_

“Yes, John. I hear you. Colourful as always.” _Tedious_.

“Just keep that in mind, will you?” John clears his throat. “Mary wants me to stay the night. I was calling to...I don’t know, get some advice, or an excuse, or something. But now...” he huffs out a laugh. “I guess I’ll give you some privacy.”

“Yes, thank you, John.” Sherlock’s face remains passive.

“Play safe and be careful with your injury.”

“Yes, John.” They both ring off.

Sherlock returns Molly’s phone. “Everything alright?”

“Yes, fine. He’s just overly cautious. Wanted to make sure it was ok to leave me alone while he stayed the night with Mary.”

“Oh?” she doesn’t bother to hide the shock in her voice.

“I suspect he’ll sleep on the settee. He’s amazing at holding a grudge. Anyway, Mary has an early scan tomorrow so he’ll be able to join her.”

“Oh. Good. That’s good.” She smiles at him. He smiles back. They just look at each other for a few moments.

“So.”

“So.”

“Speaking of staying the night...” he broaches cautiously.

“Sherlock!”

“No, no. I mean, yes, but no.” He presses his fingers to his forehead in frustration. “I would really like it if you would spend the night with me.”

“You want me to sleep with you?” She realises what she said and stammers, “I mean in your bed- sleep in your bed with you?” Her eyes show shock at her own bumbling.

He smiles and laughs lightly, “Yes.” He brushes a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “I’ve just recently come to realise I sleep better, and enjoy it more, when I know you’re near.” He gazes at her.

She can’t help but smile sweetly, “Ok.”

They decide that though it’s still a little early they will at least put pyjamas on. Molly hadn’t been planning on staying the night so Sherlock lends her a pair of pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. She changes in the bathroom with the door closed while he waits in his room. He can see the outline of her body in the frosted glass of the door and it does strange things to the pit of his stomach. _Fuck_.

She emerges finally and both garments are absolutely engulfing her. Despite pulling the drawstring the bottoms are still loose around her hips, and everything is just way too long. They both laugh about it and he makes her do a little spin to show it off. _Lovely_. “I’ve never had a woman in my bottoms before. ...Wait, you need to complete the outfit.” He goes back to his wardrobe and pulls out his favourite dressing gown. “Here. Must do the thing properly.” He helps her shrug it on before sitting back on the edge of the bed. It’s so long on her it almost touches the floor.

They both laugh for a while until he reaches for her. He wraps his arms around her torso and rests his head on her stomach. She wraps her arms around his shoulders and they stay like that for several minutes.

Finally she pulls away and tells him to get dressed as well. He picks out his own clothes and begins to change right there while she’s in the room. She bites her bottom lip and looks down at her feet, teetering between bolting down the hall and wanting to see him. She finally settles for pretending not to watch out of the corner of her eye.

He smiles to himself and makes a show of removing his trousers. _This is for you, and you alone_. He faces her as he removes his purple shirt and takes an achingly long time to put on the t-shirt. He keeps “accidentally” dropping it and fumbling with the hem. She’s stopped pretending not to look and is just staring at him now. His muscles move beneath his smooth, pale skin. He stands in front of her, exposed, shirt in his hand - not even trying to cover up.

She tries to maintain eye contact but it’s basically impossible. She gives in and lets her eyes wander over his chest and bandaged side. She purses her lips, “How’s that feeling?”

“Manageable.” She nods and keeps staring at his bare torso. “Actually, I’m supposed to change the dressing tonight. ...Do you want to help?” She snaps her eyes up to his face. _Excited?_ He smiles at her. She smiles back and nods enthusiastically. “Supplies are in the bathroom cupboard.”

She practically bounces off the bed to hunt things down. After she’s found everything she washes her hands thoroughly and returns to his room. She makes him lay down and she settles herself next to his injured side. He rests his arm over her crossed legs so she can have an unobstructed view. _And so you can touch her. Shut up._

She carefully removes the old bandages and inspects the wound. It’s ugly but the surgeon sutured him up nicely. “I see they used the buried horizontal mattress technique. Good job, too.” She applies the cleaning solution which stings and causes Sherlock to suck in his breath. “Sorry,” she gives him an apologetic look. He puts on a brave face. She replaces the bandage and tapes it in place, applying only as much pressure necessary to ensure it has adhered.

She tidies up the supplies and resumes her place. He hasn’t moved and rests his arm around her bent leg again, stroking her knee lightly. He smiles up at her, “I almost wish I had more injuries for you to tend to.”

She looks scandalized, “Don’t say that! You touch wood, right now.” He glances down at his nether regions and arches an eyebrow at her inadvertent innuendo. “Oh, God!” she laughs despite herself. “Although, I suppose it’s reassuring to know you are a perpetual child, just like most men.” Now it’s his turn to look scandalized.

“Molly Hooper, you surprise me as well.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, you’ve changed quite a bit these past few years. All improvements on perfection I might add.”

“What did I just say about lying to me, Sherlock?”

“Who’s lying?!” She gives him a look to indicate she doesn’t fully believe him. He sighs seriously and squeezes her knee, “I made a promise to you, Molly. I will keep it.”

She considers him for a few moments and eventually nods, “Sherlock, may I ask, how...how did this start? What changed?”

He shrugs, “It’s always been there to some degree. You have to realize that I’ve always appreciated you. I never asked anyone else for help with cases – besides John and informants, of course. Certainly never went to anyone else for assistance with experiments. No, Molly Hooper, it’s always been you, hasn’t it?” He laughs lightly, “I’ve been so jealous of Tom, too! I guess I can delete him.”

She laughs at that. “Please do.”

He thinks for a moment, “Molly, I just want you to know that there will never be a case when I can’t tell you the details. You’re not like John. I know you can handle it. I’ll always come to you for help if I need it. If I have to fake my death again you’ll be the first to know.” They smile knowingly at each other.

“Well, I am a bit of an expert as it turns out” she says proudly.

“You are, indeed.” He can’t help but grin broadly at her. But after a moment of staring he becomes serious. “...You _do_ have to promise to tell me when something I do is...not good. That’s the only way I’ll learn how this is supposed to work.”

She nods sincerely, “I promise.”

“Good. Now come here.” He pulls her down to lay with him. She settles on her side, in the crook of his arm that he wraps around her shoulders. She’s mindfully not touching his injury but intertwines her legs with his, and rests her arm over his chest. _Stay like this forever._ He sighs contentedly. He kisses the top of her head and breathes in her scent.

She rubs her hand over his chest reassuringly and accidently brushes a nipple. He sucks in his breath at the sudden jolt of arousal. He clears his throat lightly trying to recover. _Where did that come from?_

“You ok? Am I putting too much pressure on your side?”

“No! ...Umm. No.” He squeezes her arm to keep her in place. She swishes her hand over his chest – and nipple – again. “Ahhhh!” He can’t keep the moan in.

She extracts herself from his grip and props herself on her elbow to look at him, “Sherlock maybe this was a bad idea tonight.” _NO!_

“No! No, you’re not hurting me...Umm, quite the opposite actually.”

Her eyes pop wide open when she registers what he means. “...And is that...alright?”

He bites his bottom lip, “Yes, I should rather think so.” He clears his throat, “Is it...alright with _you_?”

She tries to suppress a smile, “You know it is.” She remains propped up but puts her hand back on his chest. She looks into his eyes as she experiments with touching his bare torso. His nipples are rather sensitive as it turns out. When she trails her fingertips down his stomach he sucks in his breath and moans. She bites her lips, amused by his reaction to her light touch.

He pushes on her back to bring her down into a passionate kiss.

He can’t restrain himself any longer and nearly pulls her on top of him. She gets caught up in his oversized clothes, loses her balance and ends up almost elbowing him right over his wound. “Ow! Fuck!”

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” There’s real panic in her voice, “We can stop. You don’t have to-“

“No, no it’s fine.” _Don’t stop._ “Maybe just lay on my other side?”

She makes him promise that he’s ok before she agrees to move. He reassures her and they shift around so they both lay on their sides, facing each other, legs intertwined. She rests her free hand low on his hip, to avoid his wound. He wraps his free arm around her back, keeping her close. He dips his head down to find her lips again.

He’s never felt this much contentment from physical contact before. Her mouth is so warm and inviting. His blood absolutely buzzes from the pleasure he finds in her touch. She fits so well against him. She’s gentle in her attentions, yet firm in responding to his touch. He can’t help but let out soft moans of arousal. She breathes heavily against his lips, digging her fingers into him, searching for purchase on his body.

They’ve soon drawn each other closer and her pelvis meets his own. His erection strains against the material of his pyjama bottoms. They both let out gasps of passion at the contact. He grabs her tightly by the small of her back and presses her harder into him. She winds her hands in his hair and drags her nails gently, but firmly, against his scalp. His hand travels down to cup her bottom. She moans and tilts her hips up to rub herself against his hard cock.

“Molly,” he whispers thickly against her lips. She captures his cupids-bow lips between her teeth and nips him playfully. “Molly, I need you.” He slips the dressing gown off her shoulder and trails kisses from her jaw, down her throat, and over her clavicle. She moans her pleasure. He wraps both arms around her, and pulls her on top of him. The pleasure outweighs the pain in his abdomen.

She allows herself to be moved but props herself on her elbows and knees. “Sherlock,” she gasps between kisses. “Sherlock are you ok?”

He doesn’t answer. He just pulls the dressing gown off of her, slips his hands under her ( _his_ ) t-shirt and draws it over her head. She assists him in getting it fully off, sitting back on her heels.  Her hair falls over her shoulders. He brushes it behind her tenderly and takes in the sight of her. She bites her bottom lip. _Playful? Self-conscious?_ “I thought we were just sleeping,” she whispers with a smile. _The former._ He draws half-circles on her stomach with his thumbs, fingers wrapped around the sides of her smooth abdomen. He has never been more aroused in his life.

She guides his hands up to cup her breasts. He licks his lips unconsciously and lets out a slow breath. He tenderly strokes her skin, drawing goose pimples out on her flesh. Her breathing increases rapidly. She rocks her hips and grinds into his erection. “Molly,” he chokes out. He pulls her down for a fervent kiss and rolls her on her back. He’s undone the drawstring of her ( _his_ ) pyjama bottoms in a flash and she helps him get them off, along with her knickers. He covers her body with his own and resumes passionately attacking her mouth.

The pain in his side does want attention so he slides off of her without breaking away from their kissing. He rolls and pulls her on top of him again. Slowly, gently, she trails her hand down his torso, grazing his nipple and ghosting over his stomach muscles. She hesitates before sliding her hand down further, further, palming his erection through the thin fabric. _Yes!_ “Yes.” Her fingers slip beneath the waistband and wrap around his member. She strokes him slowly at first, teasing the tip with her thumb. _Oh my God_. His brain is fuzzy and all he can do is focus on her touch. He tilts his hips up, pushing himself further into her hand. “God, Molly.” He’s close. _So close._ Suddenly he doesn’t want this to be over so quickly. “Wait” he manages to choke out.

She stalls in her ministrations, and stares at him while she catches her breath, “Alright? Pain?”

“No. Fine. ...I just...I want to...uh...but I can’t lay on my stomach.” he tilts his head back, “Come here?” he arches an eyebrow at her. She begins to straddle his torso but he pulls her forward and shifts down on the bed. He grips her thighs with his hands and levels his face with her warm, wet pussy.

He takes a tentative, exploring taste of her folds. She lets out a soft gasp. He takes a second lick, catching her clit. She gasps louder. He plunges his tongue into her hot, soaking sex, sucking and licking her rhythmically. She relishes in the pleasure, clutching at her own legs or raking her fingers through his hair. Although unpractised, his strokes are firm and purposeful, and she’s soon teetering on the edge of bliss. This is something he didn’t even know he wanted to do for years and he’s now living out the fantasy. She holds her breath as she comes and digs her nails into his hands as they hold her.

“Oh my God,” she has to force him to stop pleasuring her when her spasms quiet. When she catches her breath and regained her bearings she practically flies off him to tug down his pyjama bottoms, exposing his achingly hard erection. She takes in the site of it for a second before taking it in her mouth. She licks his cock hungrily. Her firm and quick strokes are skilful and full of intent.

“Yes! God, yes.” _No!_ The pleasure is overwhelming but this is not all he wants. “No! Wait.” She pulls off him, worry in her eyes. “Condom, bedside table." She quickly finds what they need and she rolls it on while straddling him, giving teasing strokes to his engorged member. He moans a warning. She bends forward to capture his mouth with hers again. “Molly, I’m so sorry but this isn’t going to last long,” he whispers against her lips. “And I’m afraid I’ll need you to do most of the work.” His embarrassment is evident in his tone.

She kisses him passionately again, resting one hand on his cheek. “Well then this is going to be great fun for me.” She settles herself over his groin and guides his cock into her entrance, squeezing the base to help him out a little. They both let out long breathes as she slowly lowers herself onto him. She smiles brightly and finds a comfortable position.

She rocks achingly slowly at first, only speeding up when he digs his fingers into her thighs, pushing and pulling her up and down. She holds on to the headboard and follows his direction. The change in angle hits perfectly, deep inside her. She rides him hard and fast and it’s everything she can do to hold on to herself.

He throws his head back, consumed with the feel of her. His breath is heavy, ragged, gasping. His fingers never release her thighs as she continues pumping at a more-than-satisfying pace. She’s on the brink and her muscles clench around his cock, pulling him over. She comes for a second time, calling his name.

He’s right behind, “God, Molly! I love you! I love you, I love you...” his voice trails into a whisper as his spasms quiet. She climbs off and curls up on the bed next to his uninjured side. They spend a moment catching their breath. _Something’s wrong_. He turns his head to look at her. She’s in the foetal position, with her knees tucked to her chin. She doesn’t look at him. He quickly pulls the duvet over her and presses his forehead to hers. “Shit, was that terrible? What’s wrong?”

“No, no, Sherlock. That was incredible.” She keeps her eyes shut tightly and takes a deep breath. “I’m just not used to you saying that. I’m still in self-preservation mode I guess.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Molly,” he swallows hard and kisses her forehead, “I mean it. It’s real....I know most people wait to say it, but I feel it now. Why waste time? ... _I love you_ , Molly Hooper.”

She takes a deep breath as she finally looks him in the eye. She kisses him tenderly and unfurls her legs get closer to him. “And I love you, Sherlock Holmes....but you already knew that.”

He smiles as he kisses her warmly again, “I will never tire of hearing it.”

He breaks away from her long enough to clean himself up. She pulls on her knickers and the t-shirt he loaned her. He throws on his own pyjama bottoms and nothing else. They curl up facing each other, tucked under the duvet, legs intertwined.


	9. EPILOGUE

Sherlock’s dreaming. He’s in the middle of John and Mary’s wedding. Dark figures swirl around him on the dance floor and he feels totally out of place. Suddenly he sees her dancing in the middle of people with blurry faces. She’s the clarity in the sea of distraction and ambiguity.  He beelines toward her and she smiles sweetly as he approaches. They don’t speak. He hesitates and watches her close the remaining short distance between them. He wants to reach out and grab her. He wants to kiss her and let everyone see, but he’s frozen on the spot. The world around them has slowed. She draws him in and begins to sway. The world resumes its normal rhythm and they dance to music he can’t place. _I love you, Molly Hooper. I love you, Sherlock Holmes._ He holds her closely, feels her body pressed into his, and lives for the moment.


End file.
